


We both carry a switchblade in our sleeves

by soberqueerinthewild



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self Defense Classes, frienship, lots of sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 16:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20343055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soberqueerinthewild/pseuds/soberqueerinthewild
Summary: An Isobel & Alex post-finale friendship fic. Includes self defense classes and a whole lot of sass.Originally posted to tumblr on 6/22/19.





	We both carry a switchblade in our sleeves

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting old fics I wrote on tumblr on AO3! Come visit me on tumblr. I'm soberqueerinthewild there too. 
> 
> Title from Ani Difranco If He Tries Anything

It turns out there’s not really a dignified way to fall on your ass. Disgruntled, Isobel scowls as she reaches out for the proffered hand. As soon as she’s upright, she locks her arm, shoving forward, while sweeping her leg behind her opponents ankle like she’d learned, using his momentum against him. She lets out a satisfied ‘ha’ as her partner lands on the mat in a similarly unceremonious fashion. 

“You don’t feel even a little bit bad about aiming for my prosthetic with that leg sweep?” 

Isobel smirks down at Alex Manes as he moves himself into a sitting position on the mat, looking far too relaxed and not nearly disheveled enough for the end of an hour-long self defense class. Though Isobel hasn’t glanced lately at the mirrored wall at the front of the studio, she knows that while her lululemon leggings and bright turquoise lycra workout top are the same ones she used to wear to yoga and Pilates a lifetime ago, her hair matted to her neck with sweat, her face free of makeup, and the dark circles under her eyes, would make her practically unrecognizable to her former social set. 

“As the teacher of this class, you don’t feel a little embarrassed that one of your students laid you out?” 

Alex regards her with something akin to pride. In her accomplishments or his own teaching skills, she’s not sure. “Either I’m getting slow or you’re getting good at this. Kind of a toss up.” 

He gets to his feet and does a quick wrap up, dismissing the other eight members of the class. As he gathers his things, he looks back at Isobel over his shoulder. “You look a little beat. You sure you’re up for it today?” She shoots him a withering glare and he raises his hands in capitulation. “Right, of course, shouldn’t have even asked.” She follows him past the front desk and out the door, zigzagging through the other cars in the parking lot until she reaches her own. She rolls her eyes as she notices how Alex stops next to his own car, waiting to step in until she’s safely ensconced in the driver’s seat of her Rav4. She’s hardly likely to get jumped at 5 pm in broad daylight, even if the Y is located in a slightly sketchier part of Roswell than she typically frequents. Besides, hadn’t she just demonstrated she was more than capable of taking care of herself? She supposes the ingrained vigilance and chivalry are hard habits to break. She idles in her car until he pulls out of his space, following close behind on the winding back roads that will take them back to his cabin. 

A month ago, Isobel never would’ve imagined she’d be willingly be following Alex Manes anywhere. Isobel’s always kept her distance from Alex. It might have been a little unfair, but Isobel has always had an instinctive distrust of anyone her brothers appear to love and holds a protective grudge against anyone that she suspects has hurt them. Given that Michael described their relationship as feeling like a “crash landing,” Alex certainly fits into both those categories. Then, of course, there’s the innate fear of anyone who knows their secret, especially if their family seems to have some kind of fucked up alien hunting gene. The distrust remained even since Alex has taken steps to help them since Max’s death, by combing through data from Project Shepherd, and researching on the dark web to assist Kyle, Liz, and Michael in modifying the serum to strengthen her and Michael’s powers. But Alex is still one of the few people she can’t quite get a read on. She tried to get into his head once, and though it wasn’t painful the way it was when she tried to get into Maria’s head, she hit a smooth and slippery wall when she tried. His mental control was stronger than most she’d encountered, which raised her suspicions, wondering what secrets he was protecting so closely. Because of all these things, she’s always kept her guard up with Alex. 

So, when she’d realized Alex was subbing for the planned teacher of the self defense class she’d dragged herself to, she’d nearly walked out three times. She’d been searching desperately to find some outlet that would exhaust her body sufficiently to let her sleep through the night, and thought this class might be it. The ice cold feeling that seeped through her veins the moment Max drained his life force being a fucking martyr had made it almost impossible for her to ever get comfortable enough to sleep. At least that’s what she told herself as she stared at the ceiling each night, unwilling to admit that at least part of her restlessness might be that she still unconsciously reaches for her husband when on the verge of sleep. Finding the empty space instead of a warm body jolts her into wakefulness. 

The lack of sleep was making it nearly impossible to focus on what she needed to be doing, working to expand her powers so she could bring Max back. The only times she’d managed to sleep through the night were the times she’d exhausted herself practicing telekinesis to the point of passing out, which came with the fantastic side effects of vomiting, hangovers, and an inability to wake up from her nightmares. Every other night she’d toss and turn for hours before falling into a fitful sleep, only to be jerked awake after another dream where Noah oscillated between loving husband to killer, and back again. Sometimes she saw him killing her, other times using her own body to kill Rosa, some nights she imagined him torturing Max or Michael, killing them and making her watch helpless. In every version of every dream that’s the feeling she wakes up with… helplessness. 

She tried everything she could think of to tire out her body and mind enough that she’d succumb to slumber without making herself sick. But she was too high strung right now for yoga and pilates, her typical exercises of choice. Besides, walking into a firing squad would be preferable to stepping foot into the health club she and her mother typically frequent, where the whispers of speculation about Noah’s whereabouts run the gamut from mundane (he left her for his secretary) to laughable (she’s been cheating on him with Michael for years) to fanciful (he’s in witness protection). She opted instead for the dingy YMCA on the edge of town, where she doubted she’d run into anyone she knew. Her feet pounding on the treadmill felt good when she set a punishing pace, but she got winded quickly and was still left with the overwhelming urge to pummel something. She had tried the heavy bag before the treadmill, but with no idea what she was doing, she succeeded only in hurting her hand. The flyer caught her eye as she bent to get a sip of water from the fountain: An 8 week self defense class, meeting every Wednesday, starting the following day. Though Isobel’s only experience with hand to hand combat had been slapping Kate Long across the face junior year, she decided perhaps it was just what she needed. 

Of course, when Alex Manes sauntered through the door of the small studio next to the gymnasium where the class was scheduled to meet, she’d internally cursed the desperate impulse that brought her to the class. She noticed the second he clocked her because his his eyes widened a few millimeters, but beyond that, he gave no indication of shock or surprise at seeing her here. Even when they partnered to practice the moves he taught the class, as the other students had arrived in pairs, he seemed content to let her decide whether to acknowledge that they frequented the same bunkers around town researching alien resurrection. That first day she chose not to, instead focusing on his calm, clear instructions, a welcome relief from the rest of her life where she felt uncertain and unanchored without Max’s steadying presence. The night after the first class, Isobel slept for four hours straight. The nightmare that woke her ended as it often did, with Noah’s hand clapped around her mouth, but this time at least, blood was gushing from his nose as Isobel had gotten in a sharp elbow strike to his face before his powers overwhelmed her. 

The second class went much like the first: Isobel enjoying the chance to shutting off her mind and focus only on Alex’s steady voice. When they practiced hand-to-hand, she’d been surprised but pleased that he didn’t hold back, didn’t treat her like a delicate victim, and instead struck sure and strong, which forced her to be vigilant and think quickly and creatively to use the moves Alex had taught so far. After class, she still felt restless and sought out the heavy bag, hoping she’d learned enough this far that she wouldn’t hurt herself this time. She never made it past a few experimental punches, as a parade of men approached attempting to grope her under the guise of “instruction.” After the fourth one, Alex approached tentatively and offered her an alternative. That’s how she first ended up out behind Alex’s cabin wailing on a punching bag while he remained blessedly quiet apart from offering a few suggestions to ensure she protected her hands. She slept five hours that night, and when she'd jolted awake from the nightmare, sun was already gleaming through the windows. She recalled that she’d gotten four good hits in against dream Noah before she was taken down. After the third class plus more post-class instruction on a heavy bag and this time a speed bag at Alex’s, she slept six hours. 

So now, for the third week in a row, she’s following behind Alex’s SUV the 20 minutes to his place. He’s waiting for her when she pulls up, leading her back to the shed behind his cabin where he’s set up the workout space. Alex settles himself on the mat, starting the careful stretches he does religiously after class, while she gets to work on the heavy bag channeling her frustrations: that she still hasn’t made much progress, still can’t heal anything more complex than a bruise, and though she’s sleeping more, still wakes up with nightmares. She focuses on keeping a steady rhythm like Alex showed her, and loses herself in the exercise until she sees Alex move to the corner of the shed and start fiddling with a locked case. She immediately recognizes that it must be a weapons case. Her pulse quickens and her breath goes shallow. 

He sees her staring and quickly assures her, “I’m just changing the combination, not taking them out. I’m sorry if that freaked you out.” 

Isobel barely hears him as a memory flashes through her mind: Noah, hands shaking, nervously waving a gun at her, in what she now realizes was an elaborate act to distract her from his true nature. Unbidden, she sees another flash, this one unfamiliar, of herself, expertly wielding a gun pointed straight at her brother’s heart. Her punches, measured before, rain down wildly on the bag, her breathing erratic. She punches and kicks, berating herself internally, wondering why she’s even bothering. No elbow to the nose, kick to the knee, or leg sweep would’ve protected her against what Noah did to her. How he used her, violated her. He’s dead and still haunting her dreams, preventing her from feeling strong enough to save her brother. She feels Alex’s presence beside her, watching her cautiously, but not touching to intervene. She knows his instinct is to stop her, her form is all wrong and she’ll have bruises on her knuckles, but he never touches without consent, which she doesn’t offer. So he lets her punch herself out, finally collapsing on the mat, and pulling her knees to her chest. Alex eases himself down next to her, still silent. 

She looks over at him, expecting to see pity in his eyes, but all she sees is understanding. “My abuser is dead, my brother killed him. He can’t hurt me or anyone else again. I don’t know why the fuck I’m still scared of him. I guess that makes me pretty pathetic.” It’s more truth than she planned to spill, and as soon as it’s out of her mouth she wants to yank it back, bury it back down deep where her fear has always lived, beneath her confidence and polished facade. But here, she can’t seem to find it. She feels beaten down and exposed. 

“My best friend put mine in a coma and I’m still scared of him, so I might have you beat there.” Alex responds with quiet truth of his own. 

The intimacy of the moment makes Isobel feels off-balance and she seeks to right herself, the only way she knows how. “Wait, _Valenti_ is your best friend? Ok, I concede then. That does make you the most pathetic."

Instead of the offended sputter or subject change she’s expecting, Alex just smirks and shoots back, “At least I have friends. Do you even have any, other than your brother?” 

Well, who knew he had it in him. Fine. He wants to play it like that. Isobel has far more where that came from. She can admit her opening jab was a little weak, but she’s sure this one will do the trick, and Alex will walk out and leave her alone with her anger. “Maybe not, but I’d think having no friends might be preferable to friends that either once tried to hate crime you, or that steal your boyfriend.” 

It hits just how she intended it to, but the flash of sharp pain in his eyes doesn’t bring the satisfaction she thinks it will. She’s been alone with her anger for weeks, and it hasn’t helped any. If she’s honest with herself the only true respite she’s found has been with Alex, who doesn’t ever push, but offers quiet support and space for her to work things out for herself. She looks down ashamed for a minute, but when she looks back up she’s surprised to see he’s made no moves to leave. He’s sitting back and studying her with a curiosity, no trace of the hurt she saw just a minute before. “No wonder you’re such a natural in class. That instinct can’t be taught.” 

“What instinct?” Isobel’s not sure if she should be offended or not. 

“When you’re attacked, you go straight for the jugular. Lots of people hesitate and it gets them hurt. You don’t. That’s good.” He grins suddenly like he can’t quite stop himself. “I mean, for self defense it is. Maybe not so much for making friends.” 

Almost against her will, Isobel finds herself smiling back. 

****

The following Monday, Isobel pushes open the door of the Crashdown and nearly collides with Kyle Valenti as he exits, speaking urgently into his phone in a hushed tone. She’s on a mission to find Michael, who has been AWOL from their last two planned practice sessions. He does spend some time researching with Liz, and attending group meetings with Isobel, Alex and Kyle where they discuss any new developments in the plan to resurrect Max, but he avoids visiting Max’s pod, and grows easily frustrated when Isobel pressures him to work on expanding his powers. He seems to take any opportunity to duck out, single minded in his efforts to try to live a “normal life.” It’s so diametrically opposed from his former stance, its dizzying. Out of the three of them, Michael’s the one that embraced his alien side, seemed to relish his powers. His avoidance of Max’s pod, his disinterest in practicing his powers, and his desperation to escape into his relationship with Maria, is worrying. She needs him to pull himself together and _help _her. She can’t bring Max back alone, so when she spots his truck outside the Crashdown, she is determined to drag him by the ear to the pods and make him tell her what is going on with him. 

Yet, when she steps into the diner and spots Michael stretched across a booth, his arm around Maria’s shoulders, she hesitates. She can’t speak freely in front of Maria, and she’s suddenly exhausted contemplating fighting with Michael. As she lingers undecided, she spots Alex in a booth on the other side of the diner, sitting alone, idly dipping fries into his milkshake. Though he’s staring straight ahead, she sees his eyes flicker slightly to Michael and Maria’s booth. Before she takes time to think about it, she slides into the booth across from Alex and snags a fry from his plate popping it in her mouth. 

Alex gives her a bemused look and speaks with an exaggerated politeness. “Hi Isobel, how are you? Why don’t you sit down.” 

Isobel waves him off. “Please, I think we’re past the pleasantries at this point. Plus, it’s kind of tragic for you to be sitting here all alone. I’m saving you.”

“I wasn’t alone; you just missed Kyle. He was called back to the hospital.” 

“I thought we already established: you hanging with Valenti, _also_ tragic.”

“Whereas you stealing my fries and sitting down uninvited is...” 

“Me being charitable, I told you. Keep up.” 

Alex huffs out a laugh as he runs a hand through his hair, which, Isobel notices, is carefully styled and several rings adorn his fingers. She takes in his mint green sweater and leather jacket. “Wait,” she starts, her tone accusatory, “you look _nice.” _

“Ok, those words seem to form a compliment, but yet coming out of your mouth it sounds like a condemnation somehow?”

“You’re not like… dating Valenti are you?” Isobel’s not sure who looks more appalled by the idea, her or Alex.

“God no. Kyle is so straight. In every sense of the word. Plus, I got over any interest in him when I was 13. That’s definitely not happening…”

He trails off and Isobel feels his concentration is divided. She knows before she looks that Alex’s focus is drawn to Michael. When she does glance over she sees what caught Alex’s attention. Michael is staring, brow furrowed in confusion likely bewildered by Isobel’s presence at Alex’s table. Beyond that, Isobel sees the flash of something else in his gaze, something that looks a little bit like longing with just a touch of lust. Apparently she’s not the only one who noticed that Alex looks good. 

Isobel rolls her eyes internally. How these boys ever thought they were subtle she’ll never know. As starts to make a crack to that effect, she hears a prim voice greet her. 

“Isobel, sweetie, it’s so good to see you out and about!” Isobel barely contains a groan as she looks up and sees Celeste Mccormick has stopped at their table. Isobel hadn’t liked her much when they’d been planning the last veterans benefit fundraiser, and since Noah’s death, her tolerance for putting up with superficial bullshit has plummeted. She tries to match Celeste’s fake smile and returns the greeting through gritted teeth. Celeste continues, voice lowered now, “We were all so sorry to hear, about, well… what happened. I hope you don’t blame yourself. Men just can’t help themselves sometimes, always chasing after younger models…” 

Isobel sees red, but before she can open her mouth to eviscerate the woman for daring to speak to her, much less comment on her former husband, Alex stands up and interrupts before Isobel can say a word. “Mrs. Mccormick, so nice to see you again.” 

Celeste turns her attention to Alex, her face still a mask of cordiality. “Captain Manes, how are you? You’re approaching the end of your enlistment period, right? I’m sure the Air Force is sorry to see you go. My husband always spoke so highly of you when you served together before his retirement.” 

“I guess retirement is one word for it,” Alex responds, matching her fake tone of civility. “We were all so shocked that he managed to get an honorable discharge, what with the trouble he had keeping his hands to himself around his subordinates. I guess he knew it was best to take it and run, even just three years shy of his twenty. Better than the alternative, I guess. Certainly give him my best.” 

Celeste stutters for a moment, seemingly rendered speechless, before she spins on her heel and exits the diner with a huff, food apparently forgotten. When the door slams behind her, Isobel sighs in relief, the tension leaving her body. As Alex slides back into the booth, Isobel crosses her arms, studying him with a new appreciation. “That was spectacularly bitchy, Manes. I’m impressed. What was that?” 

“Me being charitable.” Alex imitates Isobel’s earlier tone. Isobel chucks a fry at him, and he laughs. “Plus maybe she’ll think twice before she opens her mouth to spout more rumors. That whole family is awful. Ten to one, the only thing her husband’s ever said about me at home is that he doesn’t understand how a fag got promoted over him, and then she comes in here talking all polite to me. I hate all that fake bullshit.” 

Well fuck, Isobel guesses she has to like Alex Manes now. “Ok, that performance earns you a few points in my book. I guess you’re not as boring as you seem.”

“Oh good, your approval is everything I’ve ever strived for,” Alex quips sarcastically.

“But, don’t think that’s going to distract me. If you’re not trying to look good for Valenti, why do you look so nice today?” 

“Ok, I’m not really dressed up!” Alex’s frustration with her inability to let anything go is clear. Isobel just holds his gaze. It is subtle, but after seeing him somewhat regularly since Max’s death, she’s familiar enough with his look to tell this outfit is just a little sharper and better put together than his typical daily wear. “Fine,” Alex relents. “If you must know, I slept badly last night, woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep for a while. This morning, I felt like absolute shit. Sometimes looking good can help combat that feeling a little. The rings are a little fuck you to my dad. He hated them: too gay. It’s the kind of thing I’d imagine he could sense even in his coma.” 

Armor, yeah that’s something Isobel understands. A rush of empathy for him sweeps through her. It feels a little unfamiliar. For months she’s been too wrapped up in her own trauma to have much space for anyone else. Somehow Alex has sneaked in as someone she cares about. His unassuming support, and the way he just seems to understand makes him easier to be around than basically anyone else right now. She guesses she shouldn’t be surprised that Alex gets nightmares too. They’ve never spoken directly about hers, but Isobel is pretty sure he knows the reason she strives so hard to exhaust herself in their workout sessions. Alex is carefully controlled regarding his personal information, so she knows that referencing his nightmares, even abstractly, was intentional, and likely partly for her benefit. 

Isobel hasn’t talked to anyone about her nightmares, but Alex exhibiting a little vulnerability makes her feel like opening herself up a bit too. “After yours, you can go back to sleep eventually?” The worst thing about her nightmares is that no matter when they come, she can’t get back to sleep after. Tiring herself out with self defense workouts or other means tends to get the best results, in that she can fall into a dreamless sleep for a few hours at least, but once she’s up, she’s up. If she’s not worn out enough, she can end up awake at 2 A.M. with no hope of rest until morning. 

Alex looks up at her with soft eyes. “Now I can, usually. I have a few tricks I use that help with the bad ones. I could...teach you them, sometime.” 

“Yeah, some time maybe that would be good.” Isobel responds, voice barely audible. She's embarrassed at the way tears prick behind her eyes at the small kindness. It overwhelms her and feels like too much for public. She senses Alex feels the same, neither of them particularly outwardly emotive if they can help it. Isobel clears her throat and flips her hair in an effort to regain her composure. She tosses off lightly, “Maybe after the next time I take you down.” 

Alex takes the subject change in stride and volleys back, “You can certainly try.” 

They settle into lighter topics, their banter fractured only when Alex loses the thread of the conversation when Michael and Maria exit the diner. Isobel feels another flash of empathy for Alex and annoyance at Michael. She wants Michael to be happy, and if she thought he was, she’d try to get on board with this relationship, even if she and Maria don’t much care for each other. But it seems less like a blossoming love story, and more like an escape; a place for Michael to hide out. He’s been closed off from her since Max’s death, trying hard to pretend things are normal, so she’s walked through his mindscape here and there, trying to find a way to reach him. It was chaotic; it always was, but lately it felt more twisted than usual. There was more pain, rage, and anger than ever before, but it’s like he’s tried to box it all up and shove it in a corner. The box rattles, strains, and howls, fighting against the effort Michael exerts to tamp it down. It fights for control against his desperation to feel normal. It pushes and pulls him in every direction until he doesn’t know which way is up. 

Michael just can’t seem to find peace, though he tries so desperately. When he’s with Maria, Isobel sees the effort he exerts with her. He has affection for her, that’s evident, but he acts like she did in the early days with Noah. It’s like he’s imitating what he thinks a boyfriend should do, what a normal relationship should be like. He hides in her, hides from his trauma, his anger, his grief. He hides from Isobel there, too. Isobel knows the danger in that. She hid in Noah for so long. From her true nature, from her fear, her trauma. It didn’t work for her, and though the circumstances are different, in that Maria genuinely cares for Michael and isn’t a serial killer, she fears it won’t work for him either. Especially not when he burns brighter making eye contact with Alex than he does when he kisses Maria. 

Isobel understands needing a respite from the intensity, needing a break from reality, but in Isobel’s estimation, break time is just about over. Because as much as she is trying to be self reliant, she needs Michael to bring back Max. But Isobel knows she can’t bend him to her will. Michael will only dig his heels in deeper. Patience doesn’t come naturally to her, but she’s trying to fight her instincts and focus on what she can control, which is making herself as strong as she can be so she’s as prepared as possible to bring Max back. She can wait to pull Michael back to her, back to reality, when the time is right. 

She breaks out of her reverie, and sees Alex’s eyes are clouded over, fixed still on the door where Maria and Michael recently exited. She figures he could use a bit of distraction too, a project. Maybe they can help each other yet again. “Alex,” she ventures, leaning in towards him. He snaps his attention back to her. “Do you think you could teach me some ways to combine my self defense skills with telekinesis?” Isobel smirks as Alex’s eyes light up.

****

Two weeks later, she collapses at home, exhausted by another afternoon out at Alex’s. They’ve been meeting three times a week, and she’s seeing real progress. Alex has designed some ingenious workouts for her to merge her new hand-to-hand skills with her telekinesis. He’s been a remarkably good sport about letting Isobel toss him around, both with her powers and even a few times with a kick or flipping him over her hip. Isobel finds her control over her powers has tightened since she started self defense with Alex. She is able to use them longer now, without as much of an aftereffect. She’s finally starting to gain a little traction with healing too. She’s not sure if it’s a result in practice, an increase in her physical stamina, or about her feeling safer and more confident in herself. Tonight she’s feeling good, thinking she might get a good night’s sleep, when she catches sight of the date on her phone, and realizes with a start that tomorrow is her and Noah’s anniversary. She’s not sure how she forgot about it, but her life is so different now than it once was, and days bleed into each other. She tries to shake off the realization, tell herself it doesn’t matter, it’s just another day. The relationship was fake, so the anniversary should be meaningless. 

She occupies herself with a few evening chores, before getting in bed early, hoping to capitalize on her fatigue and get in as many hours of sleep as she can. Hours later, she jolts awake, shaking, a scream on her lips, as she manages to wrench herself free of her nightmare. When she’s finally fully awake, she flicks the light on, unable to stop shaking. She’s gotten used to the nightmares of Noah in his last days on earth, even some where he morphs from the sweet, kind man she thought she knew into the monster, but this one was different. It was just her loving husband, all the sweet, tender moments they shared, playing on a never ending loop: him smiling at her after their first date, his proposal where he told her he never wanted to face a day without her, their wedding day, where he vowed to protect her, to never let anyone hurt her, him looking at her with such affection, reminding her that he was her person, begging her to let him in, let him make her happy. She was forced to watch herself let his sweet words chip away at her defenses, bit by bit. Watch the way the guilt tore through her each time she couldn’t reciprocate his love in the same way, watch the way she always triedso hard, to be what he wanted, to be worthy of him, to feel what she felt like she should feel, but never quite did. She was forced to remember the way she always felt a little broken with him because she couldn’t. 

Her breath comes faster now and the shaking intensifies. It’s only 1:30 am and she knows trying to go back to sleep is futile. The idea of being alone with her thoughts in the dark for the next five or six hours, and having to function tomorrow on two-and-a-half hours of sleep only increases her panic. She’s about to press Michael’s name on her phone when she hesitates. She knows if she calls, Michael will come over. He’ll wrap her in a blanket, berate himself for not protecting her from Noah, and make false promises that he’ll never let anyone hurt her ever again. And she’d feel protected and safe for a while, but when he left, she’d feel helpless again. Michael loves her, but he treats her like she’s fragile, and she feels that way plenty all by herself. It’s not what she needs tonight. Before she can stop herself, she’s pressing on a different name. As the phone rings, she realizes this might be a little inappropriate, given the time of night, but before she has a chance to change her mind, Alex answers the phone, his voice rough with sleep.

“Isobel? It’s the middle of the night…are you ok?” 

Just hearing a comforting voice is enough for the frustrated tears to spill over. She tries to hide it best she can as she chokes out, “Umm...I’ve been better…” She’s not sure exactly what she needs from him or how to ask for it. 

“Do you want me to come over?” he asks gently. 

“Yeah...umm. Ok. That would be good.” 

A half-hour later she hears a quiet knock on the door, and drags herself and her blanket to get it. She lets him in without a word, and he follows her back to the couch and sits beside her. 

They sit in silence for a while before he ventures, “So, did you have a nightmare?” 

Isobel nods. “I thought I was getting better. Stronger. But now I feel like I’m just back where I started.” 

“Recovery’s not a straight line, Isobel. You’ll have hard days, and better days, and then tough days again, but there is a time in the future it will be consistently better.” 

Isobel interrupts to scoff, “Ok, that sounds like some shrink mumbo-jumbo if I ever heard it.” 

“It _might_ be something an Airforce shrink said to me once,” Alex admits, an edge of amusement to his voice, “but it also happens to be true. You have made strides, you’ve taken control of your life, of your safety.” His tone turns lighter now, “You’re a badass, Isobel. You could take down half the guys in my squadron now, even without your powers.” 

“Then why can’t I beat a fucking nightmare, where I just see my whole sham of a marriage on a loop over and over again?” 

“Because your subconscious is a bitch. It’s harder to control. You know I still get nightmares too sometimes. But less now, and usually only when some new shit triggers old trauma.” 

“But you can go back to sleep after? You said that right? How? Cause I really fucking need some sleep.” Fatigue brings Isobel close to tears for what feels like the hundredth time that night.

“I have some strategies I use. Some of them might work for you. We can try one of them now if you want. Why don’t you lie down and get comfortable.” If Alex is surprised that when Isobel settles a pillow into his lap and lays her head down there, he doesn’t show it. 

“So one strategy I use is reciting boring things in my mind until I drift off. Sometimes I use a section from the first coding textbook I got in one of my Air Force classes. Focusing my whole brain on remembering that, kept me from perseverating on my flashbacks, but was so dull I’d eventually drift off.” 

“I’m sure this will shock you, but I haven’t exactly memorized any coding textbooks…” 

“You can use anything, even going through the scenes of a movie you like, or through song lyrics.”

“How far through the Panic! at the Disco discography have you gotten?” Isobel interrupts with a playful smirk. 

Alex grins back at her, taking the jab in stride. “My music taste, no matter how amusing to you, is not the point. You can use whatever banal pop you listen to, if that works for you. The other thing I do sometimes, if I’m feeling more...vulnerable, I guess is the right word...is go through all the steps in a martial arts routine. Remembering all the skills I have now to protect myself can help sometimes. Maybe that could work for you. You can imagine all the steps to one of the ten minute warmup routines I’ve taught you. Maybe going through all the kicks and jabs will give you something to focus on, remind you of all the ways you are strong, and keep the intrusive thoughts out.” 

Isobel doubts it will work, but she’s willing to try anything at this point. “Alright, I can try that, I guess. You can go if you need to.” 

“How about I stay here and show you. I can describe the moves out loud for you, so you can do it yourself next time.” Isobel nods gratefully. Alex starts to recite the moves in a low, calming voice. 

Isobel closes her eyes, and has just begun to drift off when she hears her front door slam open, and Michael’s voice echoes through the hall, “Isobel, Iz!” He comes barreling into the living room, stopping short when he catches a glimpse of Isobel on the couch with her head in Alex’s lap. He pauses, just staring at Alex for a beat, before he regains his voice and seems to remember what he’s doing here. “What the hell, Iz! I thought you were in trouble!” 

Isobel sits halfway up and turns to face Michael. “Umm, why?” 

“I felt it. You called to me. You screamed!” 

Oh shit, Isobel supposes maybe when she was first waking up, in her distress, she’d called out to Michael. She had been poking around in his head a bit lately, trying to find the best time to push a little, which must have strengthened the connection.

“I’m sorry, Michael. I didn’t realize I did that.” Suddenly a thought occurs to her. “Wait… that must’ve been almost 45 minutes ago.” 

Michael has the grace to look a little abashed. “I felt it, but I was really asleep,” Isobel snorts, knowing that’s a euphemism for passed out drunk, “and I thought it was just part of a nightmare, so I fell back asleep. When I woke up again, I got worried that it might’ve been real, so I reached out to you and could feel that you were in distress still. I tried calling and when I couldn’t get you, I drove over here.” 

A rush of affection courses through Isobel. Michael might be a mess right now, but he always does his best to come through for her. “I’m sorry for waking you. I just...it’s my wedding anniversary tomorrow, or today I guess? I had a nightmare and it freaked me out.” 

“And you didn’t call me?” His attention shifts again to Alex, who is fingering the pillow nervously while avoiding looking at either of them. “But you called Alex?” 

Isobel isn’t sure how to respond in a way that won’t hurt Michael. It would break his heart if she told him that sometimes he makes her feel weak, like she can’t care for herself. Not when he tries so hard to be everything she needs. “We’ve become...I don’t know, friends?” At that, Alex looks up finally from the pillow and arches an eyebrow at her. “He’s helped me with some self defense stuff, and I just called him before I thought much of it. Once he said he was coming over, I figured I didn’t have to bother you.” She settles her head back down on Alex’s lap. 

Michael’s face softens, and he walks over, shifting her legs and placing them on his lap as he sits at the opposite end of the couch from Alex. “I want you to bother me.” 

“Ok,” Isobel agrees, fatigue beginning to pull at her eyelids. “I will next time if I need to. Right now, though, Alex was helping me get back to sleep and it was kind of working so if you’re going to stay, I’ll need you to pipe down.” Michael shoots her a look that’s half adoration, half exasperation but doesn’t get up to leave. Alex, whose whole body has been tense since Michael sat down, relaxes a bit and resumes his quiet recitation until she doses off. 

She’s not sure if it’s a few minutes or an hour before she stirs, still on the couch between Michael and Alex, who are talking in hushed tones. “Look, she is just trying to get back some parts of herself that were taken from her. She wants to feel strong,” Alex pauses and his tone turns rueful, “like the kind of person who wins battles.” Michael’s intake of breath at that statement indicates to Isobel that there is some deeper meaning to those words to them than she understands. “We...I don’t know...we understand each other.” 

Michael’s anger, so close to the surface these days, flickers to life. “You’re saying I don’t understand her? I’m not there for her?” 

“No, Guerin. That’s not what I’m saying.” Alex placates. “She knows you’d do anything to protect her, keep anyone from hurting her. You and Max. But she lost Max, and she needs to know she can protect herself too. I get that instinct. I thought maybe I could help her avoid the pitfalls I fell into. Make sure she knows she can rely on herself and other people, too. That she doesn’t have to push everyone away and wait to let them back in until she feels whole again.” Through slotted eyes, Isobel sees Alex is looking fixedly at a point on the wall straight ahead, while Michael can’t seem to tear his gaze away from Alex. 

When Michael speaks, his voice is quiet, but heavy with the weight of all the things they aren’t saying. “Thank you. For being there for her. If I couldn’t be… what she needed.” 

“I meant what I said.” Alex‘s tone is barely above a whisper, “You are my family, no matter what is or isn’t happening between us. That makes her my family too.” 

The silence stretches between them. Isobel can feel Michael vibrating with the need to reach out to Alex, to say or do something. She hears his hand slide across the top of the couch until it settles on top of Alex’s, which is still resting between the couch and Isobel’s side. “Alex…” Michael’s voice cracks with emotion before he trails off. In this moment, Michael, who usually spits truth like fire, can’t seem to find the words. She doesn’t need to venture into his mindscape to tell that there are things he doesn’t feel free to vocalize, not with Isobel here, and not when he was in Maria’s bed an hour ago. 

Alex rescues them both, cutting the tension with a joke, though he makes no move to shift his hand out from under Michael’s. “It’s not a hardship or anything. Spending time with Isobel. I hadn’t realized I was desperately missing a bitchy energy in my life, and turns out she felt the same.” 

Michael barks out a laugh, “God, that's the last thing either of you need. The two of you together is honestly a frightening prospect.” It’s meant to continue the banter, but Isobel senses a wistfulness, like he’s imagining another lifetime where Alex and Isobel would’ve already spent years snarking together at family gatherings. 

“We’re delightful,” Isobel interjects sleepily, putting on a show of blinking her eyes and stretching to indicate she is just now waking up. Alex and Michael hastily disentangle their hands, Michael folding his behind his head, and Alex pulling both his back to his lap. “Just because Valenti refuses to hang out with us after that one time, because he’s worried about his karma or some shit, doesn’t mean anything. He’s so sensitive.”

“Yeah, Kyle’s a delicate flower.” Alex smiles down at her. “Probably, you should try moving to your bed and seeing if you can get back to sleep now that we know that works. I’ll get out of your hair.” 

“No, stay.” Isobel and Michael speak at the same time. Michael continues, “It’s after 2 am, man. Your cabin’s a bit of a drive from here. Isobel has like a million guest rooms, just crash.” Alex agrees, and Isobel shows him where to find the toiletries he needs, and when she comes back into the living room, she finds Michael fast asleep on the couch. She shakes her head, and covers him with a blanket, before heading to bed herself. She only gets two minutes into the ten minute warmup routine Alex brings the class through every week before she’s dead to the world. 

She nearly whoops with joy when she wakes up and the clock reads 8:12 am. It’s not the longest she’s slept since Noah, but it is the latest she’s managed to sleep in the morning. She walks into the kitchen to find Michael still asleep on her couch, and a note from Alex that simply says, “Crashdown, noon?” 

Michael stumbles in bleary eyed as she’s studying the note. “That from Alex?” He asks gruffly, feigning disinterest. 

“Uhuh, we’re gonna meet for lunch. I’m sure you’d be welcome to join us, but you have to promise to keep the eye fucking to a minimum. I have delicate sensibilities.” 

“Ha.Ha.Yeah, that’s you Iz, so easily scandalized.” He replies sarcastically before continuing evasively, “Can’t do it anyways, I have something I need to take care of today.” He kisses her cheek, then collects his things, and heads out the door, shouting back over his shoulder, “I love you. Call me if you need me today, seriously.” 

When she shows up to the Crashdown for lunch, Isobel isn’t particularly shocked to overhear Liz on the phone consoling Maria over her breakup. Maybe Michael is finally ready to stop hiding. 

****

A week after her anniversary, Isobel drives up to Alex’s cabin after their final self defense class. She’s ebullient after a week of pretty consistent sleep, and the fact that she was able to heal a fracture in Liz’s arm yesterday after she tumbled off the ladder of one of their many bunkers. 

Alex is waiting on the porch when she arrives, and walks down the steps to meet her. “I thought you were right behind me? What took so long?” 

Isobel smiles sheepishly at him. “I had to stop off to pick something up.” Alex’s eyes widen in understanding as Michael walks around the car and stands uncertainly, hands in pockets. “He’s been moping for the past week since the inevitable crash and burn of his relationship. I dragged him over here so I could knock some sense into him, literally and figuratively. Thought maybe you’d be up for helping.” 

Alex’s face, incalculable at first, breaks into a slow teasing smile. “If you think you can handle it, Guerin.” 

Michael grins in a way Isobel can only describe as borderline filthy. “You really think you can take me, Private?” 

“Oh, I know I can. But I’m not going to. I’m just going to sit back and watch your sister show you the 14 different ways she can take you down.” Michael’s eyes widen as Isobel and Alex smirk at each other. 

Ten minutes later, when Michael hits the mat after a well placed oblique kick and grins up at her with a mix of annoyance and pride, while Alex watches on with amusement, Isobel feels a sense of hope wash over her for the first time since Max died. Maybe, just maybe, everything will be alright. 


End file.
